


follow the sound like he's the pied piper

by iuniore



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess - referenced
Genre: (more like infatuation), Alternate Universe - Dark, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gothic, Obsessive Behavior, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love, inspired by twilight princess at times, it's a mix of dark themes and soft themes, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:30:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iuniore/pseuds/iuniore
Summary: there’s magic in the world, you’re sure of it. what other way is there to explain the mysteries?





	follow the sound like he's the pied piper

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i know it's yet another kinda dark BOTW fic but i can't help myself recently :/ i've written a gothic before but i think i've definitely improved in my style, so i hope this is a much better read than my DC one! i hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> as always, here's a warning list:  
> -character death/injury (minor character deaths)  
> -unhealthy relationships  
> -people being killed and eaten  
> -ghosts

there’s magic in the world, you’re sure of it. what other way is there to explain the mysteries?

you travel far and wide through the land, accompanied by your trusty steed. as the night draws, and the weather cools into something windier, you find yourself happening across a stable. there’s no better place to rest; a safe haven from the monsters that sought to have you dead. as you drift off to sleep, your horse accounted for, the slow lull of an accordion drags you from consciousness, chaining you. it’s the same sequence over and over, no variety in its mysterious, calming rhythm. the _tap! tap!_ of a wing on the side of the instrument is similar to that of the repeated pattering of rain upon a window. 

when you wake up, the source is gone, though it echoes, still in the air around you. the performer has vanished too, no trace of them to be found. curious, you ask the stable manager which way they headed. when you try to explain, they just tilt their heads like the stables’ dogs and ask, “who?”

you continue on your adventure, forcing the tune out of your mind. you pretend you never catch yourself humming it when the world grows too silent. it’s pure luck that you stumble across it again, in somewhere as deserted as horon lagoon, southeast of the east reservoir lake. the wind blows weird around here, strong blasts of it with enough force behind it to knock even the strongest of gorons over. the rocks are trippy too, with their uneven natures unforgiving in the way they cast you into the cold water below. lizal tribes search these waters, desperate for the taste of an unlucky hylian who lost their way; the fish in this area are particularly appetising, drawing you towards them in such a way that it’s just so easy for you to tumble in.

that is, of course, if you lose your mind to the music. it echoes across the wide, enclosed space, singling you out among the hundreds within the world. it’s a song made to dance to, holding that _someone_ close. but you’re all alone out here, as is he, and you can’t help but gravitate towards him. careful, now. it’d be an awfully sticky end if you were to trip and fall, and drown, wouldn’t it?

when you’re free from the song that enthrals you, it’s fitting that you travel somewhere else entirely. just to be sure. sticking to the path laid before you was never really your style but it wouldn’t hurt to see more of the world, after all. it leads to many new discoveries. most notably: two sisters, named nat and meghyn, who are ruthless in their pursuit for some good, ol’ hearty truffles. there have been many times where you’ve had to step in to avoid them being eaten alive by some hungry bokoblin. if they’re not being chased down, then they’re arguing about whether to give up or keep on going. you think them both fools.

the next time you run across them is in akkala, just before you reach the split in the road that can take you towards death mountain or deeper into the province. the air is so silent, you hardly notice them at first. then comes the cry of a monster with its sights set, just before their spiked bat plunges into her skin, ruining her face forever. you manage to draw your bow and shoot an arrow through its back. it turns quickly but, before it can even take a step further, you release another shot, which arrives at its target, through its skull. it dies, and its partner soon follows suit. the girls, so eager to get on with their search, barely cast you a glance, offering you little but a _‘thank you!’_. you suppose that’s enough; the fact that they’re alive and not bleeding out on the floor is enough for you.

it’s not long before you see them again. this time, though, you’re but a minute too late. the bokoblins pay you no mind as you ride on past; they’re too focused in scoffing down the truffles, before moving on to the blood-stained remains that lie lifeless, separated from each other, from where they desperately tried to run. it’s not your fault, you know, but you still feel a little responsible. after all, what would have happened if you were just a minute earlier?

to forget, you leave the roads again. you start to forget what it feels like to see other hylians, to hear voices other than your own. to get lost in the woods is a great danger but the very thought of it fills you with exhilaration. the trees began to spill their secrets, their stories becoming your own. at night, the fire guards you as you rest beneath the stars. it’s only when you awaken do you realise something’s amiss, when your arrows seem to be scattered around in the trees, or that your shield has been removed of all the paint, leaving an ugly plate of metal. 

sometimes, when you rise just before the sun, you can catch a faint, _“yahaha!”_ , if you’re quick enough. occasionally, a mosaic of green-and-brown will appear too, just before it disappears into thin air. a book in one of the stables will eventually tell you of the tale of the koroks, the lively forest spirits that have their fun with travellers passing by. rumour has it that only one that is truly in touch with nature can see them and their brethren, though you would be so likely to believe that if they didn’t hide out in the open— and freeze when caught, no less. 

it takes a different turn when all of your equipment disappears. even your horse seems unnerved, giving a startled whinny at everything that moves. though you go to sooth her, it does little for her fear. her wide eyes still observe the scene cautiously but she still makes her way through the trail at your command; the further you go, the more of your tools you earn back. first, it’s the small dagger embedded into a tree. after that, you discover your quiver hung upon a branch that you can just manage to reach from your horse’s back. as you dive deeper into the forest, you become whole again.

finally, you discover your sword standing in the dirt before you, surrounded by a strange circle of rocks, all different shapes and sizes. try as you might, you can’t pull the weapon out of the ground which seems to cling to it, like ivy. confused, you scan the area until you notice a stone missing, breaking the pattern. just by it, upon a small hill, there’s something shining. you take it and finish the circle. the sword slides out with ease.

distantly, somewhere in the forest, you hear a faint cry of, “you found me!” before the sound disappears into a hum of laughter. with your equipment restored to its former glory, you decide it’s time to move on. but where to next?

upon your map, between the fiery region of eldin and the frozen-over province of the hebra, there’s something marked as the great hyrule forest. with closer inspection, you see that there’s seemingly one way in, with the place surrounded by some sort of moat. unusually, there are no landmarks within the place, suggesting it must be unexplored at best. you figure that treasure hunting has never hurt anyone, especially with something that could be as big of a snatch as this. 

you head north, the faint chatter of the forest spirits following you along your way. it doesn’t really take long, but the travel still leaves your bones aching and your mind tired. camping has always been your style, but it doesn’t mean that it can’t be taxing on the body, especially when it’s jutting rocks you rest upon. 

one day, you stumble across a hoard of moblins. whilst their size towers over yours, their attacks are slow enough that it’s easy for a trained hylian like yourself to dodge. though their spears are sharp, and their claws even sharper, their lumbering weight seems to hinder them harshly as you roll to the side and plunge your dagger through their thin waists. as they fall to the floor, you’re sure to finish each and every one of them off, lest they sneak up on another unknowing victim.

and yet, it’s still you that they sneak upon. as the moon rises up high into the sky, you wipe the blood from your weaponry onto the dry grass, leaving it stained. your horse whinnies as you care for the wound your wrist sustained, from where they’d managed a hit and send you flying, leading you to land wrong. it aches, but it’ll be good as new soon. or so you think.

the sound of snorting alerts you. as you turn, you see them again, a pack out for vengeance. 

the blood moon rises once again and, with it, rises all the monsters that laid slain. your hard labour is all fruitless, as their damaged skin mends again in front of your eyes. where you had previously stabbed and slashed at them is now nothing but a graze. their eyes, though, are filled with fury as they follow you, scrambling for their weapons which you had left discarded on the floor.

 _run, run,_ you think, as you gallop away. why does the red moon always come at the worst of times?

you arrive at the forest you longed to search a few hours later, way into the early moments of the morning. you’re lost before you know it, the mist swirling around you like a miniature tornado. the wind blows with a certain strength that leaves you breathless, and the torch you hold barely alight in your hand offers you no warmth. the world feels distant, void of all life, though you’re certain you saw a fox just run on by— or were you imagining it? it feels that way, surrounded by the solitude. not even the forest spirits are with you now, their conversation utterly silent.

open-mouthed, the trees surround you, screaming as if they’re in awful pain. their wide, gaping mouths are just open enough to climb inside, though often you receive nothing in reward, except the dread of it closing upon you. the sky is invisible, as if you’re in a little dome; whether it’s night or day, or simply nothing, you can no longer tell. rocks seemingly move on their own, jumping back meters whenever you draw too close. you tell yourself that the place ain’t haunted, that you should stick in there.

you really shouldn’t.

before you know it, you’re somewhere entirely different. to go left, to go right? to go anywhere seems like too much of a pain. walking for hours (or maybe even days) has left you broken, the blisters on your feet becoming near-numb. 

settling along the old brick wall seems like your best bet. you almost collapse against it, dropping your torch in haste to get to the floor. the pack of monsters can barely be heard celebrating around the fire; you are deaf to the world, to everything except…

the faint cry of an accordion carries across the lifeless woods. frozen, you can’t help but listen to it again, helpless to its temptation. the steady beats lull you, as always, into a sleep so needed, so heavy, that you do little to resist the enticement of closing your eyes. 

when you open them again, everything is gone. the monsters seem to have been hunted, leaving behind an empty camp full of rotten bananas and half-eaten fish. the fog has been lifted, releasing you back into the cursed world. you linger for no longer than you have to, running to your horse and escaping.

he saved you, you know. he rescued you when you were alone.

 _i have to thank him,_ you think. _i have to find him and… thank him. just thank him._

oh, but it’s more than that. you’re stuck in his trap now, stuck in the repetitive melody that sings to you, that gives you company when you’re alone. you’re his and he’s yours. yours to track down, anyway. 

where would he be… where could he be…

you spend your days wondering, hunting. the desert? no, no, it’s way too warm for the rito there. maybe further north, around akkala? it’d be a place to start, with you being so close to the place. 

you try the stable first. the foothill stable— nothing, too bad— and then into akkala. the south akkalan stable holds nothing too and leaves you vacant as a result. oh, where could he be? the tower seems to be calling to you, so you begin your ascent. the height would give you a wondrous vantage point, as well as a pleasant place for the wind to carry His song. 

it’s a terribly difficult climb, you discover, with most broken bridge causing you to take an alternate pathway, right into the sights of a guardian.

oh, the guardians; hyrule’s last hope. what a pathetic excuse for _guardians._ they hunt its people in an awful fashion, destroying buildings and setting entire forests ablaze just to pursue its target. 

their long, spider-like limbs are so machine-like that you feel no remorse in seeing it die. as the clogs inside it turn and the springs inside it creak, the core inside it fizzles out, useless. you kick it aside, remembering when you where a child and you’d kick a ball between your friends. 

the flying ones are much harder to avoid. taking shelter underneath rocks seems to work best, though the guardians often turn in directions you hadn’t predicted, and you become covered in flashing red lights that begin a steady countdown. time races by as you struggle to remove it before _it_ removes _you_. kill or be killed, and all that.

you make it, though, after an arduous climb up the mountainside. as you throw yourself over the final ledge, lying on the floor and taking a deep breath, you notice you’re surrounded by ruins. it’s not the typical calamity ruins, no; it’s not a fallen wooden house that had been beaten down via storm, nor a structure that has simply fallen with time.

it’s a ruin filled with history, with a story desperate to be told. it’s war-time ruins, a final stand against the monster that forever changed the world. though you weren’t there— and can barely begin to imagine the size of this moment— a shiver runs through you, making your entire body tense. you’d sat up when you noticed the first building, so now you clamber to your feet, shaky like a newborn foal. when you stumble forward, you walk upon a stained and torn red carpet, that’s barely even red anymore. most of it has been destroyed but a few frayed edges remain, showing off the once-vibrant-gold-now-dull-yellow patterns that had been previously woven. 

the buildings, too, are worse than you’ve ever seen, and you’ve travelled the world. most of which is around you has crumbled completely, with random rocks and chunks of archways lying scattered upon the dented ground. the only buildings that still stand have clearly been removed of a few floors and they are held together solitarily by the thick grip of malice that coats the building like never-drying paint. it pulses, almost like a heartbeat, and the lone, yellow eye from within watches you as you grow closer. 

you draw your bow. you shoot it.

when it disappears into its cloud of smoke, half of the building collapses. you realise you’re not alone.

a figure stands there, watching. there’s a faint blue glow around them, similar to that of the sky on a nice, calm day. they don’t say anything, barely even move; you can’t help but stare back and _wonder_.

they’re not alive, not anymore. that much is easy to tell, even with your spiritually untrained eye. blending in almost like a suit of armour, like a decoration, the spirit dons a typical hylian armour set, with the matching slashes into the armour too. they’re missing the helmet, as well as half of their skull, though they still manage to look at you with their one eye.

their glance conveys desperation. it appears they’re trapped in this place, like a permanent purgatory. when you step towards them, they don’t move back. in fact, they don’t move at all until you’re centimetres away.

“how do i free you?” you ask. it seems like the right thing to do, though you don’t very well know the difference between good and evil anymore.

when they open their mouth, no sound comes out. probably because there isn’t any mouth to open, with their head clinging onto their neck with little but a strand of skin and bone. they continue to look at you, though, and you can feel yourself be pierced with their emotion. you almost flinch back at the strength of it but you force yourself to hold your ground, seemingly unfazed.

“i’ll do it.” you say, convinced. “i’ll do whatever it takes.”

you get to work.

to purge this place of malice seems like a good start. climbing through the ruins provides a challenge but you’ve never been one to deny yourself some practice. carefully, you move around the place until you come across a bokoblin camp, yet again. there are various monsters there, most likely strengthened from the evil energy within the earth. their skin shines black and silver, and even gold, but with a few well-sent bomb arrows aimed at their explosive cargo, they start to drop like flies. some of them prove to be a little bit of trouble but you discover that not even monsters of malice’s own creation can swim in its tar-like substance: instead, they drown. 

you do nothing to help them.

when you turn, you can see the faint fires of cerulean blue fading into the sky. _it’s a job well done_ , you think, and you finally feel proud. not that it lasts long. when you climb the tower, refocused on searching for your Beloved, you stumble across nothing. nothing at all. the tower is but a bitter end.

where is He?

you head down the tower, back into the wilderness to continue your search. only, since it’s your luck, you stumble across an impossibly large camp. there’s food flying around before they even spot you, and their weapons gleam with unnatural cleanliness. 

when they spot you, it’s as if you stumbled across the riot. you try and fight them off (you hadn’t meant to even be caught) but it’s of little use, when they crowd you, much stronger than you remember.

quick, quick now. there’s little time left. the monsters, howling, are hot on your heels. quick, quick now, there’s so little time left.

you run up the hill, weakly attempting to fend off the rocks that are pelted at you.

your sword lays broken within a lizalfos’ skull. your bow, still strapped against your back, is useless without the arrows to arm it. defenceless, you continue, praying to whichever Goddess that chooses to listen.

apparently, She is welcoming today. the hill leads seemingly to a dead end, though a small lake runs by underneath it. with no hesitation— because to have any would be to kill yourself— you dive, a perfect shape of grace.

time seems to slow whilst you move through the air. everything fades— the angry call of the monsters; the colour of the sky and the rocks and the grass; hell, even the feeling of butterflies in your stomach melts into nothing.

it’s just you and the water. you and the soft shade of blue that you stare into. when your finger, just the tip, touches the water, you feel yourself being transported away.

the scene you appear in is… unusual, to say the least. it’s dark, though your eyes quickly adjust. around you, you can see an unlit torch (one that has recently died out, with the smoke still wafting through the air around you). your hands absentmindedly run across the cold, stone floor, almost as if you’re bored; it’s as if you’re not in control anymore.

there’s no window or not one you can see anyway. chains around your wrist, ankles, and even neck prevent you from moving anywhere far. you hope it’s just nighttime, just a dark night. to be without sunlight for so long is… beyond cruel. somehow you know you’ve been here for what feels like months.

the cell is not very spacious. even from only mentally being there for a second, you’ve already explored the entire room many times over.

suddenly, the sound of footsteps resonates, accompanied by the loud sound of a creaking door hinge. you flinch back, ears aching at the noises echoing through the dungeons. the footsteps are at least of around five people; all are light, though the _clink! clink!_ of their armour gives them away as guards. all except for one, who walks faster and louder, the click of their heel on the ground sounding eerily familiar.

they come to your cage door, blocking the light from the torch that shone in the hallway. you are almost plunged entirely into darkness.

“this is him, your majesty.” one of the guard's states, voice flat. they pass _their majesty_ the keys, to which she nods.

“thank you,” she says. there isn’t an ounce of gratefulness in her voice. instead, she sounds cold, incredibly so, considering _your_ the one in a cage. “give us a moment of privacy-” when the guards look hesitant to leave her alone, she adds, in a voice that is suddenly hard- “please.”

they scamper away, tails between their legs at the sight of their ruler. pathetic.

“ganondorf,” she says. hesitantly, she wraps her hands around one of the door’s grates. she doesn’t place her forehead against it, not quite, but she leans in close, as if only you can hear her. “i’m sorry for what is about to happen.”

you speak without your own volition. “an execution.” you spit. it’s not even a question; you’ve had too long to grow to your own conclusion and accept it. “you’ve tried _that_ before. many times, in fact. i trust your memory hasn’t aged as much as you have?”

she doesn’t seem to be too bothered by his-- your remarks. in fact, she appears to have expected them, since she doesn’t even flinch.

“i’m sorry it has to be like this.” she says instead. “we’ll make it quick.”

“i won’t,” he argues. he will fight until his remaining breath.

“i know you won’t,” she says. she doesn’t even fight him. she’s just sad.

finally, she turns away, understanding her visiting time is up. the guards almost flock to her side again, only stopped by the glance she casts them.

“zelda,” he says, and zelda turns back to him so quickly that she looks almost hopeful in what he has to say. instead, ganondorf can’t find the words. he just shakes his head and lets her go.

distantly, just before the door closes, his ears manage to hear, “i’m sorry we couldn’t save you this time.”

it’s the last thing he remembers before he wakes up again, in a new body, in a new era.

whether he becomes good or evil now is up to the fates again. 

too bad the cards are stacked against his favour.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! & i really hope you enjoyed. this was really fun to write, since it allowed me to explore the darker side of BOTW (that, hopefully, BOTW2 is going to show off!)
> 
> this fic is tagged as TP being referenced because ganondorf's execution at the end was inspired by his execution with the sages, along with the spirit in the citadel referencing the spirits found with wolf!link (and, i guess, in BOTW with the champions too)
> 
> also! it's my first time really writing ganondorf dialogue so i struggled with it a little bit. i'm hoping to write some more pieces on the free of them and the triforce and stuff, though i've been hesitant since i really struggle with ganon's character. feel free to keep an eye out for that, though!!


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